


who's that girl?

by louistomlinsons



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends With Benefits, M/M, New Girl au, Roommates, harry is canadian, idiots to lovers, if u will, niall is irish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louistomlinsons/pseuds/louistomlinsons
Summary: “So, do you want to tell us a little bit more about why you’re here?”“What do you mean?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. “I’m here because I need a place to live and you guys need a roommate.”“I guess let me rephrase that,” Leo (or maybe Liam) says. He taps his pen twice against the notepad, drawing Harry’s attention away from a large hole in one of the walls. “Why do you need a place to live?”“Oh, that’s easy.” Harry sits up straighter in his seat. “I walked in on my boyfriend of four years banging my boss. I couldn’t very well keep living with them, could I?”harry is canadian, louis owns a bar, zayn comes and goes as he pleases, liam's just trying to keep everyone alive, and nobody knows what niall does. a new girl au.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 25
Kudos: 395
Collections: HL TV SHOW FIC FEST 2019





	who's that girl?

**Author's Note:**

> hi this was a labor of love!!!! thank u to sonja for putting this on and to jess for being the best cheerleader in the entire world.

“So, do you want to tell us a little bit more about why you’re here?”

The man sitting across from Harry pulls out a small yellow notepad, pen poised, ready to take down whatever Harry says. He thinks that the man - he vaguely remembers that his name is Leo or maybe Liam - looks like a puppy dog. He’s got wide, brown eyes and a soft face, despite how firm the rest of his body looks.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. “I’m here because I need a place to live and you guys need a roommate.”

The couch he’s sitting on is old and worn, with holes and stains covering almost every inch of it, and he sunk right into the cushion as soon as he sat down. The couch the four other men are sitting on doesn’t seem to be faring much better. It’s a light brown color, but Harry suspects that it used to be grey or even white.

One of the men laughs, and Harry remembers his name is Neil. He’s Irish, very obvious from his accent as soon as he had spoken, and had been the most friendly of the group so far. He had seemed all but ready to help Harry move his stuff in as soon as he opened the door. It was refreshing, and his kindness made Harry feel less homesick.

“I guess let me rephrase that,” Leo (or maybe Liam) says. He taps his pen twice against the notepad, drawing Harry’s attention away from a large hole in one of the walls. “Why do you need a place to live?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Harry sits up straighter in his seat. “I walked in on my boyfriend of four years banging my boss. I couldn’t very well keep living with them, could I?”

“I think technically you could,” says another one of them. Harry remembers his name easily as Louis - only because he’s Harry’s exact type. The exact type he’d go looking for in a bar tonight to help with some of his heartache. “But I’m not sure you’d want to. Might be a bit uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable it had been, Harry thinks.

He doesn’t mention that he had lived with them for eight months before he was finally able to move to the United States. He’d spent the first two months living in hell, sleeping in the bedroom next to them and showering at three in the morning to avoid seeing them. After he applied for a visa, he’d had to wait another six months for it so he could even move. He heard things he could never unhear.

There had been one night where he’d been grading papers on the couch that he’d never be able to erase from his memory.

_Harry placed the short story on the stack of the others he had finished grading. It was marked in red all throughout the pages, mentions of “don’t change your tense mid-story” and “there’s no need for a comma after every word.” As he was reaching for the next one to grade, his bedroom shook with a boom. He tried to ignore it, but it was followed by a loud moan and another boom that rattled the whole room. Sometimes this happened, and sometimes he could ignore it, but today was not sometimes._

_He stomped across his room, out the hall, and came to stop in front of the master bedroom. He banged loudly on the bedroom door with his fists. He kept banging until the door swung open, revealing Jeremy with a prominent boner tenting his boxers._

_“What do you want?” he asked, leaning against the doorway. Harry could see a very naked woman, their third roommate and Harry’s own_ **_boss_ ** _laying naked on top of the sheets and tied to the headpost. Harry doesn’t even spare a moment to wonder when Jeremy started being so adventurous._

_“Can you keep it down?” Harry asked as politely as he could. He tried to give a polite smile but could tell it came across as more of a grimace._

_“This is as much my house as it is yours,” Jeremy said. He always got defensive like this, as if he was inconvenienced by Harry. Like he wasn’t the one who got them in this mess by cheating in the first place._

_“Yes, but you should be respectful of your roommates,” Harry countered. “I’m trying to grade papers.”_

_“Listen, Harry,” he sighed. “I know this situation isn’t ideal-”_

_“No, not ideal would be running out of my favorite cereal and having to settle for raisin bran. This is, I would say, the worst case scenario.”_

_Jeremy slammed the door and the moaning continued, louder this time._

It wasn’t even like he was all that heartbroken anymore. He wasn’t all that heartbroken to begin with. His relationship with Jeremy had been mediocre at best. Sex in one position once a week, both of them avoiding the talk about marriage and kids and the future, and eating dinners in silence. For four years. If he hadn’t walked in on Jeremy banging the school principal, he probably would have ended it for his own sanity. Or stayed with him because it was what he felt he had to do.

He also didn’t technically need to move to the United States. Canada was huge. He could have moved across the country and never would have worried about running into Jeremy ever again. But he was sick of living a mediocre life, and that was all his life in Canada had ever shown him. After thirty years of staying in his comfort zone, he finally did the wildest thing he could think of.

He got his visa, he bought a plane ticket, and flew to California the next day.

Which is how he finds himself on this stained, holey, and worn down couch, without any belongings besides what could fit in his suitcase, talking to four men who appear innocent enough but had been desperate to get him to come in for an interview as soon as possible. They’re attractive men at least, not that Harry would judge his roommates by their appearances, and all seem to be in their late twenties to early thirties.

Oddly enough, the other three besides Neil have distinct British accents.

“Why do you guys need a roommate?” Harry asks. “Did you scare the last one away?”

“No, nothing like that,” the man with the notepad says. Harry’s almost ninety percent sure now his name is Liam. “Zayn and I just started getting more serious and we moved into the same bedroom. We figured, instead of turning the extra room into an office or something, we could see if anyone would move in and hopefully get lower rent for all of us.”

Zayn. He’s the one who looks exactly like a model, Harry remembers. He hasn’t said a single word since he introduced himself and the way he’s been looking at Harry makes him wish he could melt into the floor. It’s _intimidating._

“Adorable,” Harry says, hoping it’s not obvious in his voice that he doesn’t find it adorable at all. He didn’t exactly plan on leaving one couple just to move in with another one.

“You wouldn’t have to have the room next to them!” Niall rushes to interject. “You’d be on the other side of the apartment, across the hall from Lou.”

“And honestly, you seem normal enough,” Liam says. “I think we’d all agree that we’re cool with you living here.”

The other three nod. Harry wonders how they’ve made this decision while sitting in front of him this whole time. Can they communicate telepathically? He briefly worries that they can read his thoughts.

The situation isn’t ideal. There’d be five of them living in an apartment that’s barely meant to house four. There’s only one bathroom. There’s a couple who will either break up, have loud sex all the time, or get so serious they’ll move out and find their own place soon. The furniture is all falling apart, there are holes in the wall, and Harry can see a bucket set up to collect dripping water in one of the corners. These men met him five minutes ago and are asking him to move in. He has no idea if these people are serial killers or in a cult or just general weirdos. He doesn’t even know their last names.

But the bedroom comes furnished. And it had been the cheapest rent he’d found in the whole state of California.

“When can I move in?”

* * *

Harry moves in that night.

Liam, of course, thought they were moving things too quickly. Zayn had nothing to say and Niall offered to help the poor guy move his shit into their place, since they lived on the fourth floor and their elevator had never worked.

“Liam, it’s not a relationship,” Louis sighs. He licks the chip dust from his fingers, wiping his hands on the couch. It’s so stained that the newest addition isn’t even noticeable. “It’s not ‘moving too fast’ he’s just moving in. What, did you want him to take you to dinner before he got in your bed?”

“I just worry,” Liam says. “What if he’s a serial killer?”

“He’s from Canada. There are no serial killers in Canada.”

“Where did he say he was from? Saskatchewan?” Liam furrows his eyebrows. “That sounds made up. Maybe we should have run a background check first.”

“You, my friend, are being fucking ridiculous.” Louis decides he’s not actually done with his bag of chips, reaching in and grabbing another handful. “Everything in Canada sounds fake. Niall has that running conspiracy that Canada isn’t even real.”

“I once got arrested in Canada,” Zayn says, the first thing he’s added to their conversation in almost an hour.

“What?” Liam whips his head around to glance at his boyfriend.

Zayn shrugs and lights the joint in his hand.

The door swings open before Louis can ask _why_ Zayn got arrested. Niall’s carrying a bookbag and Harry’s following hot on his heels, wheeling a squeaking suitcase through the entryway.

“Well, Harry, that’s it.” Niall claps his hands together. “Obviously you’ve seen the place. Until you get some more things, Zayn doesn’t mind you using his old bedsheets. He even put clean ones on for ya. We can head in to Santa Cruz tomorrow to get you anything you might need. Do some furniture shopping. Get ya a toothbrush.”

“I have a toothbrush, actually.”

“Oh, then, look. There’s something we can cross off the list!”

Niall’s constant optimism sometimes gives Louis headaches.

Harry shifts from foot to foot. “Which room is mine?”

Louis jumps up from the couch. He wipes his chip-stained fingers on his jeans and gestures for Harry to follow him. “You’ll be living across from me. Don’t worry, I don’t make much noise.”

Harry wheels his suitcase down the hallway, following after Louis hesitantly. He looks like a newborn deer.

“Cool,” he says. “What do you do for a living?”

“I own a bar.” Louis stops at the end of the hallway, in between both of their doors. His own bedroom door is decorated with parking tickets, rude notes left on napkins from patrons at the bar, and a post-it Niall had left there once that said ‘ _you sound like you’re being strangled when you orgasm_.’

“Cool.”

Louis wonders if Harry knows any other words.

“What do you do?” he asks. Should they have maybe asked him that during the interview? Maybe Liam was right - what _did_ they know about this man they’d agreed to let live with them?

“I teach middle schoolers.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Or I guess I did. I don’t have a job here yet.”

“My friend Sam teaches at the middle school in Santa Cruz. Do you have a car? I could probably put in a good word for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t have anything yet. I literally landed in America less than twenty-four hours ago. Why would I have a car?”

“Fuck, Harry. You’re really killing me here.” Louis gives him a lopsided smile. “You make it hard to help you. Luckily, I have a car you’re more than welcome to use.” He pauses. “Wait. Are you allowed to drive in the states?”

Harry giggles, hand coming to clap over his mouth and cheeks flaming. Louis is _endeared_.

“I have no idea.” Harry lays a hand on his doorknob and starts to push it open. “I think I’m gonna go to bed. Jetlag and all. I’ll be sure to yell if I need help or see any large rodents running around.”

“Oh, don’t be alarmed by the rat.” Louis bites his lip to try and keep a straight face, and does his best not to point out that it’s only an hour time difference. “We named him Remy.”

“Like from Ratatouille?”

Louis snaps his finger. “Exactly. You’ll fit in perfectly.”

And Harry does look exhausted, but he’s humoring Louis and laughing at his jokes and Louis wonders if it goes against any rules to hook up with their new roommate.

“I’ll be sure to ask him for tips on how to improve my cooking skills, then.” Harry gives him a small wave and starts to slip inside the room. “One question before I’m out for the night, though.”

“Go on with it,” Louis says.

“Why’s the apartment number 1D if we’re on the fourth floor?”

“Counter question - why is the apartment next to us 8E?”

“A good counter question.” Harry nods his head decisively and slides into his room. The door clicks quietly behind him, but Louis can’t make himself walk away just yet. Harry’s gone from sight, but Louis can still feel him in the hallway, air crackling and skin buzzing.

He finally makes his way back down the hallway in a daze. He plops down the couch and kicks his feet into Liam’s lap, ignoring the insults hurled his way.

“I know that face,” Niall says. “You’re going to try and hook up with Harry.”

“Please don’t hook up with our new roommate,” Liam pleads.

“I promise.” And he means it. If they don’t want him to try and put the moves on Harry, he won’t. Scout’s honor.

* * *

Louis Tomlinson has never been a boy scout.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry groans, head thrown back against the closed door and one leg slipped between Louis’ thighs. “ _Fuck_.”

“You’re so responsive,” Louis pants. “God. I want to ruin you.”

“Another night.” Harry digs his fingertips in Louis’ side, rucking up his shirt. “Not gonna take much to ruin me tonight.”

“I thought you were going to bed.” Louis ducks in and sucks a bruising mark on Harry’s exposed neck. He can’t help himself - it’s just out there in the open, begging to be kissed and bitten. He does it again and again, until there’s three matching marks running down one side of his neck.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Harry rolls his hips up into Louis’ and if things continue like this, he’ll be coming in his pants in the next two minutes. By the looks of it, though, Harry will be too. “Just so happened to run into you.”

“I’ve always heard orgasms help with sleeplessness,” Louis says, and they’ve developed a rhythm. Their hips roll together seamlessly, pressing against each other as their hands pull at one another’s bodies, reaching to be closer.

“Can’t believe I’m about to come in my pants like a teenager,” Harry mumbles into the skin of Louis’ neck. He licks the skin there, followed with bruising kisses. “How did we get here?”

Louis knows how they got there.

_Louis tiptoed into the living room, struck by insomnia just like every night, fully prepared to spend his night watching television until he passed out on the couch. Every morning, Liam found him and laid a blanket over him on his way out to work._

_Except._

_Someone was already in the living room._

_“Harry?”_

_Harry jumped, had apparently been focusing intently on the hole in the couch, one hand coming up over his heart._

_“You scared me,” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper._

_“What are you doing up?” Louis asked. He walked over to the couch, plopping himself down next to Harry._

_Harry shrugged. “Can’t sleep, I guess. Something about an unfamiliar room.”_

_“We’ll have this place feeling like home in no time,” Louis promised. “We don’t really want to have to go through the roommate search process ever again. It was kind of awful.”_

_“Was it?” Harry asked, giggling and wrinkling his nose. Louis didn’t find it cute. He_ **_didn’t_ ** _. (He did)._

_“Yeah, the guy we interviewed right before we met you wanted to know if we had enough room for his seven cats and four bunnies. That was a pretty short interview.”_

_Harry threw his head back and snorted, eyes closed and dimples set deep in his cheeks._

_“I don’t think that would be so bad,” he said, tilting his head towards Louis’ direction. “What are you doing up?”_

_“It would just smell,” Louis laughed. He poked at Harry’s thigh, twisting in his seat to face the man more. “I don’t know how to sleep.” He shrugged. “My usual routine includes coming out here and hanging out until I pass out. But now I’ve got you to keep me company.”_

_“Glad I can help.” Harry looked like he meant it, too. Like he really was happy to be out in the living room keeping Louis company in the middle of the night. “Want to watch Dirty Dancing?”_

_Louis’ face broke out into a wide smile._

_“I like the way you think, Curly.”_

Naturally, that had progressed into playful cuddling and then not so playful cuddling. Which had turned into Louis climbing into Harry’s lap and kissing him senseless. Which had led to this.

Naturally.

Louis rolls his hips one more time and feels Harry shudder underneath him, goosebumps forming on his skin. Louis doesn’t last even a second longer, coming into his pants and biting down on to Harry’s shoulder. When he pulls away, there’s a large indent from his teeth, and he knows it’s going to bruise.

“Fuck,” Harry pants, head tilted forward and resting on Louis’ shoulder. He catches his breath for a moment, and Louis can feel his heartbeat pounding. “Fuck, that shouldn’t have been that good.”

Louis chuckles. “I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“Oh no, yeah,” Harry says, and pulls his head away. He leaves his hands on Louis’ hips, fingertips pressing just past the side of gentle. “This was a bad idea.”

Louis slips out of Harry’s grip, and walks backward towards his room. He needs to get out of these pants before they permanently stick to him. A sly smile forms on his face as he glances over Harry’s disheveled appearance.

“This was a horrible idea,” he says. He backs all the way against his door, feeling the press of the doorknob against his spine. “Do it again tomorrow?”

Harry’s wicked grin matches Louis’. “Same time tomorrow.”

* * *

Harry wakes up in the morning with regret settled deep in his stomach.

He shouldn’t have done that.

_He should not have done that._

He audibly groans and wishes he didn’t have to face the day. As it stands, he did promise Niall they could go shopping and he vaguely remembers hearing Louis pipe in that he’d like to chime along. He thinks it’s too soon to pretend to be sick, and he doesn’t want to start off his first official day in the apartment on a bad foot by cancelling on them.

So.

Harry sucks it up and rolls out of bed.

His feet stick to the hardwood floor as he pads barefoot down the hallway. Every door he passes is shut, save for the bathroom, where he can spot Zayn brushing his teeth. They make eye contact in the mirror and he smiles around his toothbrush at Harry, his aloof tough-guy demeanor rapidly chipping away.

The hallway gives way to the living room. Niall and Liam are sitting on the couch, Niall’s feet in Liam’s lap, and the morning news is broadcasted over the television. It doesn’t appear that either of them are watching it, too busy scrolling through their phones to even glance up. Harry gives them the benefit of the doubt and assumes they’re just listening to it.

He finds Louis in the kitchen. He’s got headphones in, cooking away at the stovetop. It smells like eggs and bacon, and Harry’s stomach rumbles, reminding him of how hungry he is. He can’t even remember the last time he ate a real meal, between the airport and hotel room and moving in. His stomach grumbles against his will, the traitor that it is.

Louis spins around and jumps, startled, and tugs out his earbuds.

“Good morning,” he says, and Harry watches as his cheeks flame.

He wonders if Louis’ going to pretend like nothing happened between them, or if he’ll address it. Harry isn’t sure which one he would prefer.

“Nice hickies.”

That answers that question, Harry thinks. He throws a hand up to grab at his neck, as if he could find the bruises along his neck with just his fingertips. He hisses quietly as he presses down into a particularly sore spot, and assumes that must be one of the marks left behind by Louis’ mouth.

“Thanks,” Harry says. “Can’t exactly remember who gave them to me, though.”

“Must not have been too memorable, then.”

“The opposite, actually.”

Louis’ face breaks into a smile, but before he can say anything, the smoke detector starts beeping. He spins around to see what’s going on and Harry notices the pan is on fire. Not just smoking profusely, but actually on fire.

“God dammit,” Louis has just enough time to yell before the sprinkler system kicks in and douses the whole place in water. Wiping water from his eyes and spitting water from his mouth, Louis says again, “ _God dammit_.”

* * *

It takes the fire crew all of five minutes to clear the building. Of course, they give Louis a big talking to about the importance of safety while cooking. He tries to protest but they just laugh and tell him to start with something simpler next time.

“Something simpler?” he grumbles. “Bacon and eggs is literally as simple as it gets.”

“And see how that turned out for you?” Niall asks. “You started a fire.”

“It was contained to the pan!”

“Doesn’t matter.” Niall shrugs. “You still started a fire.”

“We’ve _all_ started at least one fire.”

“Wait, you have?” Harry interjects. “I think this is something someone should have mentioned during my interview.”

“Would it have changed your answer?” Louis turns to him, giving him an expectant look.

“Maybe!” Harry throws his hands in the air.

“Oh come on!” Louis mimics the motion, hands thrown in the air and scrunching his nose in disbelief. “You were desperate!”

“Not that desperate!”

“Do you guys want to go back inside?” Liam asks. Louis looks around and notices that even the firetrucks are gone, not a single resident still standing on the sidewalk. “Or you guys can keep standing out here and arguing, but I think the rest of us might go inside.”

“It is a little chilly,” Niall agrees.

“Chilly,” Harry deadpans. “It’s like seventy-six degrees out here.”

“Is that Canadian temperature?” Louis asks. He holds the door open for Harry, motioning for him to walk through first. He allows himself a few seconds to admire the view.

“Canadian temper-” Harry cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Do you mean Celsius? No!”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe?”

“The American education system has failed all of you.”

Of course, when they reach the apartment, the front door is wide open. Liam promises he shut the door behind them, as it protocol ever since they were broken into during the last fire they set.

“Wait the fire was in our fucking apartment.” Harry sounds like he’s growing more and more frustrated the more time he spends with his new roommates. Louis can’t really blame him. “That means the fire department would _need_ to get in here to put it out. Which is exactly why the fucking _lock_ is broken.”

“I think you’re our missing piece,” Niall says. He throws an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him in for a half-hug. “The only one with a brain here.”

“That’s alarming.”

Niall must think it’s a joke because he throws his head back and laughs before letting go of Harry. He doesn’t say anything else before meandering down the hallway towards his bedroom. Somewhere during the exchange, Zayn and Liam have also snuck off, leaving Louis and Harry alone to finish their discussion from the morning. The discussion from before Louis set the place on fire.

Instead of asking an adult question and maybe having a mature conversation about boundaries and expectations and where they want to take this, Louis asks, “Do you want to have ‘I’m glad we didn’t die in a fire’ sex?”

“We weren’t really in that big of danger-”

“Harry, that’s not what I asked.”

“I should say no.” Harry inhales deeply. He lets it out, shaky and unsteady, exactly the way he makes Louis feel. “I should really say no.”

“But you’re not?”

He nods. “But I’m not.”

Louis takes the chance and lunges forward, connecting their lips. It’s been less than twelve hours since he felt Harry’s lips against his and it’s been too long. He doesn’t know how Harry so easily pulled him in, and he doesn’t really want to question it.

Harry is so easy and pliant underneath Louis’ hands, melting into the touches and kisses. He lets out soft moans against Louis’ lips and arches his back to try and get closer, like the hair of a distance between them is just too much to handle. His hands fist in Louis’ shirt, the fabric rubbing roughly against the sensitive skin of his back.

It’s no longer Harry’s hands against his back, but the rough marble of the island countertop pressing in against his spine. It’s uncomfortable, but he barely registers it as he watches Harry sink to his knees on the hardwood. He somehow manages to do it gracefully, even though he’s anything but graceful from what Louis’ seen.

“Fuck,” Louis whispers.

The sight before him is too much, it’s all too much - Harry’s fingers slipping in the side of his sweatpants, fingertips pressing against the softness of his hips, face pressed against the sliver of Louis’ stomach exposed between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants, Harry’s hot breath raising goosebumps in its path.

Wordlessly, Harry slips Louis’ sweats down to his knees and Louis has never been more grateful that he skipped putting on underwear when he climbed out of bed.

Harry dives in - that’s the only way Louis can describe it. He goes tongue first, taking Louis down until his nose is pressed against the happy trail of Louis’ stomach. He moves his head back to the tip, slowly, letting his tongue circle around the tip, before pressing all the way back in. He does this until Louis loses count, merciless, with tears in his eyes and a flame to his cheeks.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m not going to last much longer,” Louis pants.

He moves one hand from the counter, where he’d been trying his best to steady himself, and tangles his fingers in Harry’s curls. He gives an experimental tug and is rewarded with a low moan, vibrations running up his dick and making his toes curl. Louis barely has time to give another tug at Harry’s hair and pull him off before he’s coming all across Harry’s face - across his cheekbones, open lips, and his stuck out tongue.

His knees go weak and he has to both of his hands to catch himself, panting and just trying to come back to earth.

Louis catches his breath and goes to help Harry off the floor, with the intentions of returning the favor, when he hears Liam and Zayn’s voices growing louder as they float closer down the hallway. Panic flares in Harry’s eyes and Louis gestures frantically for him to crawl down the other hallway, in the direction of their rooms, come still drying on his cheekbones.

He barely has enough time to pull his pants back up before Zayn and Liam appear on the other side of the island counter.

“Hey.” Louis tries for casual, but he can still hear the breathlessness in his tone and he’s sure his cheeks are flaming red. “‘Sup?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Zayn asks. He wrinkles his nose and looks around the kitchen, like maybe that might give him some clue as to why Louis’ acting so strange. For a brief second, Louis worries that maybe it _will_ give him away. Maybe Harry didn’t crawl away like he was supposed to or maybe some of his come got on one of the countertops. Or _something_.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Louis defends. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re all red and sweaty like you just went for a run,” Liam says. “But I’ve known you like eleven years and I’ve never seen you exercise.”

“I did just go for a run.” Louis feels a little called out, actually. “I run all the time. Before you wake up. In the middle of the night. Every day. Sometimes twice a day.”

Zayn snorts. “You don’t have to lie. When would you have gone for a run? We literally just came inside like ten minutes ago after you set our kitchen on fire.”

“It’s only been ten minutes?” Louis could have sworn he lasted longer than that.

“Right.” Liam still looks a little suspicious, but he doesn’t say anything else. His face changes, visibly brightening. “Anyway, do you want to go break off plastic forks in James Corden’s yard?”

* * *

The longer Harry lives with his new roommates, the more concerned for them he becomes.

“I’m sorry _what_ is this game called?” Harry asks. He blinks twice, like maybe he’s in a dream and this is all fake and he’ll wake up back in Canada if just thinks about it hard enough. “And you have to do _what_?”

“True American!” Niall cheers. He opens his beer can and watches as the foam slides down the sides and lands in loud droplets on the hardwood. Harry had been wondering why the floor was always so sticky, and now he can make an assumption.

“Are there...rules?” Harry’s almost afraid to ask.

“You’ll learn them.”

“The floor is lava!” Louis screeches. He jumps up like a cat on to the closest chair. The other three boys follow them, until Harry is the only one left standing on the scratched hardwood floor. He glances down at it and wonders if they willingly moved into the apartment with it looking like this or if they did this themselves. (It’s probably a combination of both, he decides).

“Harry, you’re gonna burn!” Niall yells.

He decides to play along and steps onto one of the dining table chairs.

“Wait, are there teams?” Harry tries to yell over the madness in the room, but of course every ignores him. Niall starts chugging a beer and Harry is just _so lost_. Who let him move in with these people?

The game progresses for two hours, and Harry still has no idea what’s going on. Sometimes they start yelling and he thinks he’s supposed to be yelling with them, but he doesn’t quite understand it. He barely even understands what they’re chanting. Sometimes they all place their hands against their foreheads and hold up numbers with their fingers and he still doesn’t know the rules.

What he does understand, though, is that he’s very drunk. (And his new roommates are even more drunk).

“Abraham Lincoln!” Louis screams from the other side of the room. “I call Abraham Lincoln!”

“Abraham Lincoln was _not_ the sexiest-”

Louis cuts Niall off with a scoff. “Oh yeah? Why did he have the nickname Babe-raham Lincoln then? Answer me that one!”

“I would argue that JFK was the sexiest president,” Harry adds. “Speaking of JFK and our man Abe, did you hear about that conspiracy that JFK was actually just Mr. Lincoln reincarnated?”

“What do you even know about American history?” Liam asks, in a tone that honestly quite offends Harry. “You’re from a fake place outside of America!”

“Canada isn’t fake!”

“Wait, guys.” Zayn sits up from his previous position laying flat on the floor. “Harry and Louis have to play Seven Minutes in Heaven now.”

“Wait, why?” Harry whips his head around to glare in the general direction of Zayn. “Is that a rule?”

“Yes!” Liam waves a wobbly finger in the direction of the pantry. “You have to make out for seven minutes in our heaven.”

“The pantry is not heaven,” Louis says, sounding tired. Harry gets the feeling they may have had this argument before.

“Speak for yourself,” Niall says defensively. “Stop stalling and get in heaven!”

“Come on, Haz,” Louis says, jumping up from the couch.

“I thought the floor was lava?” Harry asks, confused. _Are_ there rules to the game?

He follows Louis to the pantry, anyway.

It’s dark when the door shuts behind them, and Louis turns on his phone’s flashlight. He holds the flashlight up under his chin, so it illuminates his face, the same way Harry remembers he used to do at sleepovers in high school.

“Harry, would you like to make out with me?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows sinisterly.

“Can we cuddle instead?”

Louis’ face softens. “That’s honestly an even better idea.”

Harry could fall asleep easily, once Louis puts his arms around him. He plays with Harry’s hair and rambles about something, but Harry stopped listening the moment he started talking.

“Haz?”

Hearing his name, Harry focuses back in on the one-sided conversation.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice deep from a combination of the alcohol and the sleepiness weighing on his chest. “What’s up?”

“I’ve never gotten along with someone so easily and so quickly before,” Louis admits, and Harry can hear the blush just from his voice. “Thanks. Sometimes I can be somewhat of an acquired taste, but you’ve never made me feel like that.”

“Never, Lou.” Harry nudges himself closer to Louis’ side, sighing contently when Louis resumes scratching his fingers along his scalp. “For the record, I’m not sure I’ve gotten along with anyone so quickly before either.”

He thinks about trying to go to bed right in Louis’ lap, but the door opening stops that plan right in its tracks. Liam’s bending over, in his face, and saying something about continuing the game. He must protest because Liam pulls him up by the armpits and drags him back out to the living room, where Zayn appears to have reclaimed his position on the ground and Niall is singing a song in a language that Harry doesn’t understand.

“There’s only like one more round,” Louis whispers in his ear. Harry didn’t even know there were rounds.

He doesn’t understand the game. He doesn’t even think there are _rules_.

The game does, for its credit, its purpose of getting its players incredible wasted. Harry’s one of the less drunk ones, able to stand without swaying. Actually, he’s one of the only ones able to stand at all. Liam quite literally had his knees collapse beneath him as he passed out on the ground. The boys all assured him this was normal, but Harry wonders if maybe just because it’s normal doesn’t quite mean it’s _healthy_.

Harry turns out to be the last person standing. He’s not quite sure if that’s the point of the game.

“Hazzie, you are-” Louis stops and hiccups, word slurring together as he leans on Harry. “The best person I’ve met. I swear.”

It’s kind of hard to make out what he’s saying, but Harry gets the general gist of it.

They come to a stop in between their doors. Louis’ still leaning on him, whispering something about cats in hats in his ear, and Harry tries to figure out how to hold him up while getting the door open. He manages, and they go tumbling through, tripping over at least three pair of shoes on their way to the bed.

“Are you staying with me?”

“It sounds like you’re talking in cursive,” Harry giggles. Just because he’s the only one still able to stand on his own doesn’t mean he isn’t also pretty wasted. “Your words all tie together. Like the way words tie together when you write in cursive.”

“Cursive?” Louis presses his cheek against his pillow and laughs, eyes squeezed tight, cheeks flushed, and Harry’s heart squeezes at the sight. He decides to ignore what that means.

The way Louis’ still clutching on to the front of his shirt makes it kind of difficult for Harry to get away, and he decides to stop fighting it. He allows himself to be pulled down onto the bed and into Louis’ arms.

He waits for the room to stop spinning so he can finally fall asleep.

* * *

Louis gets Harry a job.

Because of course. Harry’s trying to keeps things from getting complicated, and now he owes Louis for finding him a source of income.

Louis texts the apartment group chat (puzzlingly titled ‘ **pumpkin balls** ’) later that night, “ _Come to the bar to celebrate Hazzie’s joining of the American workforce._ ” Before anyone can even respond, he tacks on, “ _It’s not an invitation - it’s mandatory. And yes. You do have to pay for all your drinks. No more putting it on your tab!!!!!!!_ ”

Which is how Harry finds himself, a week after falling asleep in Louis Tomlinson’s bed and less than twenty-four hours after fucking him senseless in the shower, walking in a bar called...Lucy’s Bar.

“Who’s Lucy?” he asks when he sits down at the bar. It’s mostly empty, but it’s still pretty early in the night, and none of the other guys are here yet. The more he thinks about it, the more Harry realizes he’s never seen more than two other patrons in the bar at any given time. He wonders how it stays open.

Louis shrugs. He pours some sort of brown drink into a glass and slides it Harry’s way. “No clue.”

“It’s your bar.”

Harry smells the liquid in the glass and feels his nipples harden instantaneously. He can tell that this is the type of drink that makes hair grow on someone’s chest.

“Yeah, but I didn’t. Like. _Name_ it.”

This seems to be all Louis is going to say on the matter.

“Where are the other boys?” he asks, all the while ignoring the glass in front of him. He’s not going to drink it. The last thing he’s going to do is drink the liquid. He’s pretty sure it could _kill him_.

“Beats me,” Louis says. He grabs a glass from the counter and begins wiping it with a towel. It’s like a movie scene, in Harry’s eyes. This attractive bartender, wiping down a glass, making easy conversation. In fact, Harry’s definitely seen this movie before and it always ends in sex.

He figures this will probably end in sex, too.

“They’re usually late,” he adds. “Like, it’s actually weird to me that you’re here when I asked you to be here.”

“It’s called being a good friend,” Harry says.

“I think it’s called being Canadian.” Suddenly, Niall’s clapping him on the back, appearing out of thin air, and laughing like he’s said the funniest joke of all time. “Us Americans obviously don’t have the manners that you Canadians do.”

“You’re Irish-”

Niall cuts Harry off with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I think you’ve made up the name of the place you’re from anyway. I can’t even pronounce it.”

Harry decides it’s time to try the drink in front of him. He’s long overdue for a drink, ever since moving in to what the other four affectionately call “ _The Loft_ ,” and tonight is the night. And he plans on conveniently forgetting to pay his tab when the night ends. He already sleeps with the bartender - he’s not going to _pay_ him, too.

He heaves a deep sigh, picks up the glass, and throws it to the back of his throat. It burns the whole time, and leaves him coughing and sputtering while Niall cackles beside him.

“What did you make him?” he asks, all while Harry is still trying to catch his breath. He feels like the drink may actually be squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“The same drink I make all the newbies,” Louis answers. That does nothing to clear anything up for Harry, and doesn’t help the room from spinning around him. “I forget what you named it, though. The one with the cinnamon whiskey, vodka shot, Jaeger, lemon juice, and tap water?”

That sounds like a horrible combination. Harry can also confirm it _tastes_ like a horrible combination.

“Oh,” Niall says, realization dawning on his face. “The ‘Dirty Mop Water.’ That shit’s nasty.”

“Can confirm,” Harry sputters. “This shit’s nasty.”

“Want another one?” Louis asks, wicked glint in his eye. He cocks a half-smile and starts to pull out the ingredients before Harry can protest. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, another one is in front of him and for some reason he can’t explain, he’s throwing it to the back of his throat and repeating the process.

“Oh _god_ ,” he moans. “No more, please.”

“Mate, I can’t believe you actually did a second one,” Liam says, and Harry’s not too sure when he and Zayn got to the bar and how long they’ve been watching him suffer. “I’ve never seen anyone do a second one.”

“I can get you a regular beer now,” Louis says, and before Harry can protest an opened bottle is placed in front of him. Louis completely misses the coaster set out on the wood, and by the looks of the water rings all along the bar, the coasters don’t actually seem to get much use.

“So Haz, are you excited to work with Sam?” Niall slaps his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, just a hair too aggressive and causes him to spill his beer on to his pants. Niall either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “He’s a character.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Harry has not heard much about this Sam guy. He’s not even sure how the gang knows him. (The gang? When did he start going along with their shenanigans?). “Like a good character or a bad character?”

“Just.” Niall shrugs. “A character.”

“I don’t think you’ll get along,” Zayn says simply. Apparently over it, he asks, “Did you really do two Dirty Mop Waters?”

* * *

“I thought we already celebrated the fact that I got a job?”

Louis spins around in the passenger’s seat to glare at Harry - who looks adorable smushed between Liam and Zayn in the backseat. He thinks Zayn probably should have taken the middle seat, but Harry demanded he did so that he could cuddle both Liam and Zayn at the same time. Louis swears he doesn’t find it cute.

“Haz,” he sighs. He ignores the whack he gets from Niall for taking his seatbelt off so he can turn around completely in his seat. “We celebrated the fact that you got a job, yes. Or that _I_ got you a job, if we’re being correct about things. Now we’re going to celebrate your first day.”

“Should we celebrate my first day before it happens?” Harry asks, eyebrows pulling close together. “I feel like that’s bad luck.”

“We don’t believe in bad luck in the loft,” Niall says, laying on his horn and cursing at someone out the window.

“Niall, you’re literally the most superstitious person I know.” Louis ducks to avoid the arm haphazardly swung in his direction before continuing, “This morning you spilled salt and then flicked some over your shoulder.”

“He’s not mentioning that it hit him in the eye and he screamed,” Niall laughs, remembering.

“I didn’t scream.” Louis crosses his arms and tries not to smile when he hears Harry’s laugh from the backseat. Louis can’t even look at him or he’ll start laughing, too, and that’d give Niall too much satisfaction.

“Also it’s late,” Harry says once he stops laughing. “I have to wake up at, like, early.”

“And you’ll sleep _great_ tonight,” Niall says, with a sinister twist to his words. Louis knows what they’re doing, but it’s probably alarming to Harry to hear.

“You know, I’ve only really known you guys for such a short amount of time and-”

“Shut up, Harry,” Louis cuts him off. “We’re your only friends in America so you have to go along with our shenanigans.”

“I feel like I reserve some right to say no,” he counters.

“If I thought that you actually didn’t want to be here or do this with us, then yes. You could say no. But since you have no reason to actually decline, then you’re not saying no. Does that make sense?”

“No?”

Louis claps his hands together in delight as the car comes to a stop in the parking lot. “Perfect! Glad you understand. We’re here now.”

“The beach?”

“Harry.” Louis sighs. “You’re not very good at keeping up.”

“I can’t keep up because you won’t tell anything!” Harry throws his hands up, exasperated, and whacks Liam in the face. “Sorry, Li.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Liam says. He rubs at his nose, looking like a disgruntled kitten. “Anway. We’re here to smoke weed. Secret’s out.”

“Smoke weed?”

“Harry!” Louis pauses, halfway out of the car. “Keep up! We tell you what’s going on and you still can’t keep up. That’s why we don’t tell you anything.”

“Maybe if you told me things from the beginning I would understand them,” Harry tries to argue. Louis doesn’t have to listen to his arguments, so he finishes climbing from the car and lets the warm air wash over him. He knows the water’s fucking freezing, but it feels so nice outside he wants to dive in anyway.

“You know, I’ve been living here for too long now and I haven’t been to the beach yet,” Harry admits, coming around the side of the car. He stops next to Louis and leans against the door, crossing his arms. His eyes make contact with Louis’, and Louis feels like Harry can read his mind. “It’s nice, but I didn’t have anyone to come with.”

“You could go alone,” Louis says. He knows it’s not the right thing to say, but he can’t stop himself.

Harry clears his throat, the tense air dissipating between them and replaced by a tangible awkwardness. “Right. Yeah.”

“That was dumb.” Louis shakes his head. “I’d love to go to the beach with you sometime.”

“We’re here now,” Harry laughs.

“Right,” Louis says slowly. He reaches into his pocket and feels around, biting his lip in concentration. With some struggle, he finally pulls out the baggie of weed, rolling papers, and a lighter. “I want you to know, I have an assumption that you’re shit at rolling so we’re going to have a joint rolling contest.”

“I’ve _excellent_ at rolling joints,” Harry says with a huff. “And I’m quite offended that you think otherwise.”

Harry is shit at rolling joints, Louis very quickly learns.

“Did any weed actually make it in the paper?” Louis asks, laughing. He looks around, searching for the other boys but finds them all the way down at the water. He thinks about calling for them and inviting them to smoke the joint that _he_ rolled, but decides not to. He and Harry can split it since they’ve both worked so hard.

“No, definitely not,” Harry says honestly. “I may not know how to roll a joint, but I can light one. Am I redeemed?”

“No.”

Harry lets out a belly laugh, whole body shaking with it.

“But you can light it first,” Louis says, hanging it over. “But only out of pity. Because I feel bad about how _awful_ you are at rolling. Among other things.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums. “Thank you for your kindness.”

He takes the joint from Louis’ fingers, holding it between his pointer finger and thumb. He presses it to his lips and uses his other hand to flick the lighter. He does it gracefully, which surprises Louis since he doesn’t do _much_ gracefully.

Harry breathes in, pulling the joint from his lips. Smoke curls in between them when he exhales, tickling Louis’ nose. Something about it is sensual in a way that Louis couldn’t have expected.

“Your turn,” Harry whispers, leaning in close.

Their fingers brush as Louis takes the joint, still smoking and burning. He shivers and tries to pretend there’s a slight chill in the air he can blame it on.

They sit like that for too long for Louis to keep track, leaning against Niall’s beat up car, passing the joint between them until it’s not even bigger than the tip of their fingers.

Harry stomps it out underneath his boot and leans his head back against the door, head fitting perfectly into the curve of one of the dents.

“I think I needed this,” he admits. “I was a little nervous. Now I can’t remember why I would ever be nervous about anything.”

“We do this whenever one of us has a big thing coming up,” Louis says. “Like when Liam was best man at his brother’s wedding and had to give a speech. We got him absolutely stoned out of his mind beforehand. I’ve never heard someone give such a good speech before in my life. I cried.”

“Did you cry because you were stoned too?” Harry asks, laughter coating the edges of his words.

“Oh, of course. I don’t think anyone could actually understand what he was saying.”

Harry closes his eyes and lets out a laugh into the sky. “I bet they look back on their wedding video and cherish it greatly.”

Louis lets out his own laugh, biting the insides of his cheeks from smiling too wide.

“But thanks,” Harry adds. He turns his head to look at Louis, sincerity in his eyes. He can’t keep the wide smile off of his face, and Louis isn’t sure how much is the weed and how much is just Harry’s personality. “You guys have really welcomed me in.”

Louis shrugs. “We kind of like having you around, I guess.”

He hopes Harry can hear in between the lines - that _he’s_ the one that likes having Harry around. That in just a short amount of time, things have changed in the loft. It’s cleaner, for one. But the energy is brighter, they get along better, and Louis is just grateful that Harry’s the one who took the room as opposed to anyone else. He couldn’t imagine his life differently than it is now.

Instead of saying any of it, though, he says, “Want to smoke another one?”

* * *

“Lou - fuck - Lou,” Harry moans. “It’s my first day and you’re gonna make me late.”

“I’m gonna make you _come_.” Louis smiles to himself, apparently pleased.

“That was so lame I think I’ve gone soft.” He doesn’t mean it. He can’t mean it when Louis’ got three fingers in him and a hand twisting around his cock. Harry’s not so sure at this point how he’s actually managing to hold a coherent conversation. He feels like he could literally explode in the next three seconds.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Louis teases, giving a brief squeeze with the hand around Harry’s cock and crooking his fingers in just the right way. Harry doesn’t even bother giving a warning before exploding between them. He’s glad he hadn’t bothered with getting dressed yet.

“Fuck,” he pants. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as he tries to catch his breath. “You need to get out of my room before I’m late or someone sees you leaving.”

“Am I not allowed to hang out in my roommate’s room?” Louis asks, eyes wide and the perfect picture of innocence.

“No.”

Standing from the bed, Harry grabs Louis’ arm and pulls him up as well.

“This was fun, as always,” he says, “But you really need to get out of here. Zayn and Liam are going to be back from their run at any minute-”

He hears the lock in the front door just as he’s finishing his sentence.

“ _Go!_ ”

Louis finally retreats into his own room, but Harry can still hear his distinctive cackle.

“Hey, Harry,” Liam calls from the end of the hallway. “Just hanging out in the hallway?”

“Oh, um. Yeah. I guess.” He shrugs. He has no idea how to actually act casual about things. “It’s nicer out here than in my room.”

“Oh.” Liam looks confused, but not like he really wants to ask any more questions. Before heading off in the direction of his own room, he raises a finger to point at Harry. “You’ve got a little, uh, something on your chest.”

Looking down, Harry realizes he hadn’t bothered to wipe off his stomach before kicking Louis from his room.

“God _dammit_.”

* * *

The rest of the day goes smoothly, thankfully. Harry remembers where his classroom is and he makes a good impression on the principal. He actually manages to pronounce his students’ names correctly and they laugh at his jokes. He doesn’t think he does anything stupid in front of them.

Packing up his bag at the end of the day, he hears a knock on his door. Before he’s even glanced up to see who it is, the door’s swinging open and in walks a vaguely familiar face.

“Sam?”

“Yeah!” Sam smiles widely, threatening to split his face in half. “How did you know?”

“I think Louis showed me a photo of you from last year’s Halloween party. You know, the one where you fell asleep on their couch and they put temporary tattoos on every inch of your body?” Also, Louis had said that Sam was tall and looked like an asshole. Harry can make assumptions.

“Ah.” Sam’s face twists unhappily for a second before it falls back into an easy smile. “Those bastards. What’s living with them like?”

“Not so bad.” Harry shrugs. “Could be worse, I think. The rent is super cheap, and they’ve all been so helpful. Like Louis got me this job and Niall lets me use his car while I save up for one.”

“Niall doesn’t have much need for a car anyway,” Sam says. “They’re nice to you?”

Harry nods, giving another shrug. “They’ve not been mean.” He pauses. “Hey, do you know where Niall works?”

“Not a clue.” Sam shakes his head. “Have you asked your roommates?”

“To be honest, I’m kind of afraid of the answer.”

“Ah.” Sam purses his lips.

“Did you only come in here to pick my brain about the absolute weirdos I live with?” Harry asks. He continues shoving his things into his bag. He should probably stay and map out a few more lesson plans for the week, but Louis had promised an blowjob in celebration of completing his first day. If he gets home too late, who knows what shenanigans Louis will have already gotten himself into.

“Oh, no! I came to introduce myself, I promise.” Sam chuckles lightly. “Through time I’m sure you’ll give away all of their dirty secrets.”

“Alright.” Harry isn’t sure what else to say. Mostly, he just wants Sam to leave so that he can go home. “Well, if you’ll excuse-”

“Do you want to go grab drinks?” Sam blurts.

Thinking about how long it’s been since he interacted with anyone besides his roommates and middle schoolers, Harry says, “Honestly, yeah. I think I want to.”

* * *

Louis isn’t waiting up for Harry. He isn’t. He hasn’t been sitting on the couch for three hours after Harry said he would be home, glancing at the door every time he thinks he hears a sound in the hallway. He’s a grown adult, and they’re barely anything more than roommates.

He is, however, a dirty filthy liar.

“Lou, you haven’t moved in over three hours,” Niall says from the other end of the couch. “This is normal behavior for me, but not so much for you. What’s going on?”

“The couch is comfier than my bed,” he says simply. Usually, shorter answers are better with Niall. He’s not one too pry too much further than surface level.

“Is this about Harry?”

“Son of a-” Louis cuts himself off and talk a deep breath. “Why would this be about Harry?”

“Are you worried about him?” Niall takes a sip from a glass of wine. Louis’ unsure of how long he’s been holding it. “And worried about Sam?”

“Why would I be worried about him and Sam?” Louis asks defensively. He tries to maneuver himself into a more casual position on the cushions. He’s not so sure it works by the continued furrowing of Niall’s eyebrows. Louis sighs, “No, I am not worried about him and Sam. I am sure Harry had a great day, and it is none of my business if Sam tries to sleep with him.”

“It’s your business if you’re sleeping with Harry already.”

“How do you know that?” Louis shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. Niall has a tendency to know everyone’s secrets. One year, he correctly guessed each of his birthday presents before opening them.

Niall shrugs, like this isn’t a big deal. “I don’t work a 9-5. I hear everything.”

“Yeah, speaking of that - what _do_ you do?”

Niall opens his mouth to answer, but the clicking of the lock cuts him off. Harry comes stumbling through the door, giggling and red-cheeked.

“Hey guys!” he says brightly. He continues giggling until the giggles fade into a bright smile. “How was everyone’s day today?”

“Eventful,” Louis answers. “I had sex with three models.”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “That sounds fun. Niall?”

“I delivered a baby,” Niall says. His tone never changes. Louis doesn’t know if he’s being serious or if he’s going along with the joke. Niall continues to remain a mystery, even after living with him for so many years.

“Is that something you do often?” Harry asks.

“Not usually, but it’s happened before.” Niall finishes off his glass of wine and pushes himself from the couch. “I think you guys have some things you need to work out without me.”

He exits the room, stubbing his toe on the corner of the hallway and cursing loudly. He leaves Harry and Louis alone, Harry still standing half in the entryway and looking like he’s been confronted with a wild animal.

“Did I do something wrong?” he finally asks. “I don’t want to upset you, so whatever it is I won’t do it again.”

“No.”

“Alright.” Harry nods curtly. “I’m gonna head to my room now. Goodnight.”

“Yeah, whatever. Night.”

Harry disappears down the opposite hallway, and Louis lets his head slam back against the cushions. Harry’s been living with them for just less than a month and already he’s got a grip on Louis. He shouldn’t be this upset just because he came home late. It’s not like they had set plans to do anything. It’s not like they’re even more than friends. They’re _barely_ friends. They’re more like roommates who suck each other off.

“Alright, mate?”

Louis opens one of his eyes and sees Zayn standing above him, face upside down from Louis’ perspective and brows furrowed.

“I don’t wanna talk,” Louis says.

“Cool.” Zayn doesn’t move or say anything else.

“I’m not talking to you about this.”

“That’s fine.”

Zayn still doesn’t move, just standing above Louis and blinking slowly.

“Fine!” Louis sits up quickly, sighing in frustration. “I don’t know how you do it!”

Zayn shrugs. He doesn’t make a move to sit down on the couch. Louis still remains strong in his belief that Zayn would make an incredible therapist.

“I think I like Harry,” he admits.

“Oh, I thought you guys were just sleeping together,” Zayn says. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“Wait, how did you know that?” How does _everyone_ seem to know they’re sleeping together?

“I’m perceptive. I won’t tell Liam.”

“Yeah, he would freak.” Louis chuckles humorlessly. “No, I’m not gonna tell him. Harry or Liam. That just has disaster written all over it.”

“Right.” Zayn nods slowly. Confusion gradually makes its way across his face. “So your plan is to keep it a secret forever and hope the feelings go away instead of growing stronger? And you’re going to be okay as you watch Sam swoop in and make his move on Harry?”

“Yeah. It’s my only option, really.” Louis isn’t sure about what part Zayn is so confused about.

“I would argue that you definitely have other options, but I’ve also learned that arguing with you is pointless.” Zayn steps towards the couch, but seems to think better of it and turns and head back in the direction of his room.

Louis is tense while he waits for someone else to pop up and interrogate him about his feelings for Harry. When no one does, he relaxes slightly into the cushions.

Does he really like Harry?

All signs point to yes, when he thinks about it.

He looks back at the time they’ve spent together, and the time he’s spent just thinking about Harry. He’s been a goner since Harry walked through the door, if he really wants to be honest with himself. It seems like a night for honesty, so he lets himself finally come forward about the way he feels.

In the short amount of time they’ve known each other, Harry has always managed to put a smile on Louis’ face without even trying. Louis has already found he’s starting to become a better person. He’s maturing. He actually changed his sheets for the first time in almost three months. That’s _progress_.

But Harry’s so good. That’s the only way Louis can think to describe him. Harry is just _good_. He stops at stop signs, helps old ladies cross the street, and holds funerals for dead insects they find in the loft. One time, he brought Louis homemade lunch to the bar when he was working a double because he knew Louis would never remember to pack his own lunch. He takes time out of his day to think about and care for other people, and Louis can barely remember to take care of himself.

He was never going to be good enough for Harry.

Accepting that realization, he pulls the throw blanket (that Harry had made as a thank you gift when he first moved in) over himself and attempts to fall asleep on the lumpy couch cushions.

* * *

At first, Harry doesn’t notice. He takes every unanswered text in stride, assuming Louis’ was either asleep or busy being the bar’s only worker (Louis claims he has employees, but Harry’s never actually seen one).

But then the sex stops.

And from what Harry can gather, nothing’s changed. The sex was good, and they were on good terms. He hasn’t changed anything. He showers when he’s scheduled and always buys a new carton of almond milk when he uses the last of it. He’s a good roommate, partner in bed, and a semi-friend to Louis.

So, he goes to the only person he can think of that actually knows anything in the loft.

“Do you think Louis’ avoiding me?”

Niall stops his spoon halfway to his mouth, milk dripping onto the counter. Harry knows he’ll be the one cleaning it up in the end.

“Why do you think that?”

Harry shrugs. “I’m really good at reading people. And lately, it seems like Louis doesn’t want me around. Ever since I started working with Sam a few weeks ago, if I had to really think about it.”

“I think those two events are unrelated,” Niall says. Harry thinks he might be trying to appear casual, but he’s glancing around the room like he’s looking for every possible exit.

“Really? Then why else do you think Louis’ avoiding me?”

Niall looks back over. “Do you have any concrete proof?”

Harry hesitates. He knows he can’t tell Niall that the main reason he thinks Louis is avoiding him is because they’ve stopped having sex.

“Okay, well.” He takes a deep breath and thinks about the best way to approach this without giving himself away. “We used to...eat dinner together every night. Or mostly every night. Sometimes we ate more than dinner together. Sometimes it was like a breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, midnight snack-”

“-Get to the point.” Niall looks mildly disgusted.

“Moving on. Well anyway. Ever since I started working as a teacher, Louis and I haven’t really...eaten together.”

Niall shivers - face wrinkled, eyes closed, and mouth pinched. “I wish I didn’t know what you actually meant by dinner.”

“Wait, Louis told you?”

“No.”

“Then how did you figure it out?” Harry asks, genuinely confused. He and Louis had been nothing but careful.

“I have ears,” Niall says bluntly. “And eyes. And a brain.”

“Mm.” Harry nods. “So what I’m hearing you say is that we weren’t sneaky at all?”

“I think Liam might still be in the dark, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It actually does, thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Niall says. He brings the bowl of cereal up to his mouth and starts slurping.

Harry decides it’s too disgusting of a scene, and heads back towards his room. He’s got papers to grade anyhow.

He’s halfway through a stack of papers when he realizes he’s not even grading anything. He’s just marking worksheets he was planning on passing out the next school day with red pen. Sighing, he decides he’s not going to get anything productive done the rest of the night _and_ he’s going to have print out thirty more worksheets.

He can’t figure out exactly why this thing with Louis is getting under his skin so much. They’re not dating. That’s the exact opposite of what they want. Harry can’t afford to move out if they were to break up. It’s just casual sex. They’re barely even _friends_.

Except he knows that’s not true at all.

Out of his four roommates, Harry spends the most time with Louis. They spend their off days together. They sit on the couch and talk about nothing and everything. Harry visits him at the bar. Louis brings home takeout from Harry’s favorite restaurant down the block. They have dance parties in their underwear.

Louis might actually be his _best_ friend.

Which makes it even harder for Harry to accept that he might even be a little bit in love with him.

* * *

“Do you think Harry’s avoiding me?”

Niall slams his bowl on the counter, milk splashing over the sides. Louis frowns because he thinks there’s a chip in the paint now, and that was a gift from the homeless man that used to sleep on his car at night.

“Why do you think Harry’s avoiding you?” Niall asks through gritted teeth. “Because I could have sworn _you_ were avoiding _him_.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Make it make sense, Louis. Make it. Make. Sense.”

Louis’ frown deepens. “What isn’t making sense?”

“You can’t be upset that you think Harry’s avoiding you when you’re the one who started avoiding him in the first place,” Niall says. He takes a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks like a fish before letting the air out. “Can you guys talk to each other like adults?”

“That would be way too easy.” Louis scoffs. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

Niall slams his forehead against the counter. There’s a large red mark on his face when he lifts his head again. He lets out another loud sigh. Louis also feels bad for him, but his face still breaks into a smile as he notices Niall’s resolve cracking.

“What’s your dumb plan that I have to help you with now?”

“Oh, so you’re offering to help?” Louis’ expression brightened. “Your voluntary participation makes things, like, a lot easier.”

“I didn’t know I could opt out. Can I still do that?”

“No.”

Niall makes a frustrated noise, slamming the now empty bowl onto the counter again. Louis thinks he does too much slamming.

“Fine,” Niall agrees. “I will help you. But only if you promise to stop coming to me with your problems and asking for advice and then not listening to me.”

“Can I ask for your advice if I promise to listen?”

“We’ll see.”

Louis fist pumps. “Okay, let’s get to scheming.”

* * *

“For the record, I think this is the dumbest idea you’ve probably ever had.”

“Niall.” Louis sighs. “You’ve said that, like, at least fifteen times in ten minutes. That’s more than once a minute. I think this plan is great. Nobody can get hurt. Except me.”

“Nobody has to get hurt for it to be a dumb plan,” Niall says. “I just want you to hear it from me one last time before you actually go through with it.”

Louis nods. Somewhere on the other side of the bar, a glass falls to the floor and shatters. Louis’ off the clock - it’s not his place to care tonight.

“So.” Niall takes a deep breath in, puffing his cheeks and widening his eyes almost comically. “Instead of just admitting your feelings to Harry - like an adult - you’re going to lure him here under false pretenses?”

“ _I’m_ not luring him here under false pretenses,” Louis says. He wags his index finger in Niall’s direction. “ _You’re_ luring him here under false pretenses.”

“Because you asked me too!”

“Quiet down. You’re making a scene.” Louis takes a sip from the glass he’d poured himself earlier. By now, it’s gone room temperature and he makes a face before offering it to Niall. “Did you tell him what I told you to tell him?”

“Yeah.”

Niall downs the drink in one gulp, a braver man than Louis could even hope to be.

“I said that I had a friend I think he’d enjoy as maybe more than a friend,” he continues. “He didn’t seem too interested but I don’t think he wanted to tell me no, either. I think we’re still in that stage where we’re getting to know each other. You know?”

“Can we talk about this later?” Louis asks. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“It’s just nerves.” Niall shrugs him off. “Not sure why you’re so nervous. You’re both so in love with each other it’s getting kind of nauseating to watch.”

“If he rejects me, which one of us has to move out?”

“Obviously you.”

“Wait, why me?” Louis sputters, mouth gaping like a fish. “I lived here first! He’s from a made-up place in Canada.”

“I looked it up,” Niall says casually. “Seems real to me. But then again, the whole Internet is actually just one big conspiracy so he could still be lying. I’ve got a theory that he’s a spy-”

“Niall!” Louis slams his hands against the old wooden table. It wobbles side to side, threatening to spill Niall’s abandoned glass of wine onto the floor. “Focus! Harry will be here in fifteen minutes, and he’s always frustratingly on time.”

“Is it frustrating because you’re always late?”

“ _Niall!_ ”

“Right, right.” Niall nods slowly, calculatingly. “You’d have to move out because you were the one that came on to him. You would be the one who made it a hostile living environment.”

“Him turning me down will not turn the loft into a ‘hostile living environment,’” Louis scoffs. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You’re so full of shit all the time.”

“I think if we put it up to a loft vote, Liam and Zayn would agree that you have to move out,” Niall counters. “And Harry would _definitely_ agree that he got to stay and you had to leave.”

Louis sees his point.

With shaking hands, Louis smooths down the front of his shirt. He’d chosen a simple black t-shirt and jeans, but he’s second guessing it now. Should he have dressed up more? It’s just the bar, nothing fancy, but what if Harry’s dressed up?

“It’s too late to change now,” Niall says, as if reading his mind. He reaches across the table and places a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “You’re afraid, and that’s natural. But everything is going to turn out just fine because you and Harry absolutely adore each other. I have never seen two weirdos more meant for each other.”

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“You’re, like, a good friend. I don’t think I tell you that enough,” he says sincerely.

“Yeah, I know.” Niall shrugs, a small quirk to his lips. “Alright, I think it’s time for me to get out of here. No running away. Harry expects something good in this booth, and you’re not going to let him down.”

Louis throws on his best fake smile and gives a thumbs up. Niall slides across the vinyl booth and retreats across the room in a few easy steps. Checking his watch, Louis notes that it’s ten minutes until Harry’s set to show up - which means he’ll be walking through the door in five minutes.

He thinks about leaving. He does. He thinks about standing from the booth and walking out the door, leaving Harry to find an empty booth. Maybe he’d come home sad about it, or a little confused. Maybe he’d come knock on Louis’ door, seeking comfort.

And Louis would feel guilty. He would feel guilty and full of regret - knowing that he was the one who caused Harry’s pain and knowing he had blown his shot.

So he stays.

He stays and Harry’s slides into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” he says. He looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, and Louis takes that as a good sign. “Did you know I’ve never seen another worker here besides you?”

Louis can’t help but laugh. “There’s a lot of mysteries surrounding this bar, yeah.”

“Like the name. _Who_ is Lucy?”

“I genuinely could not tell you,” Louis says. He’s not being totally honest - he kind of like the way Harry squirms in frustration. In reality, Lucy was just the old owner who gifted the bar to him when she thought she was too old to be slinging drinks.

“Right, still don’t believe you on that one.” Harry’s dimples pop as he laughs at Louis’ obvious lie. “And where are your employees?”

“Probably just sitting around.” Louis shrugs, and then raises a hand to point at one of the booths across the room from them. “That’s Jason. There’s not much to do during the middle of the day. We get popping around nine, but you’re usually gone by then because you’re lame.”

“I have to get up at five in the morning!” Harry says defensively. “I have to shape young minds.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’ve never met any of my employees,” Louis teases. “You’re a grandpa with a bedtime of eight in the evening.”

Harry shrugs, unapologetic. His smile slips off his face, shifting into more of an uncomfortable expression. He coughs awkwardly.

“Niall told me I was meeting his friend James,” he says. Louis can tell he’s doing his best to keep a neutral expression. “Can I assume that was a lie?”

“Do you want it to be?” Louis counters. “I can call James, if you want. Although he’s happily married to a woman and has a few kids.”

“A few?”

“I don’t remember how many, actually.”

Harry honks at that, tension visibly leaving his shoulders. “You’ve got more important things to think about, I’m sure.”

“Very important business,” Louis says, faux-serious. He scratches at the aging wooden table, unsure of where to go from here. He’s unable to make eye contact when he asks, “Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all.”

Louis’ sure that Harry’s capable of being insincere, but he can’t think of a time when Harry’s been anything _but_ sincere. Harry’s an open book - his dimples give away when he’s holding back a laugh, his bold eyebrows furrow together to let everyone know when he’s confused, and his bright eyes always light up when he finds something truly enchanting.

“Did you think I would be?” he asks, hand inching across the table, palm upward.

“I maybe was a little concerned,” Louis admits. He sees Harry’s open palm, an unspoken invitation, and takes the leap. He reaches his own hand out halfway and places it in Harry’s, his grip firm. “But, um. Not anymore.”

“Good,” Harry says, breathless, just barely audible over the sound of glass shattering, patrons chattering, and the game of pool that’s been going on for well over an hour.

There’s so much honesty in just that one word that Louis feels like he might need yank his hand away and glance down at his lap. He forces himself to stay strong, even as their palms grow sweatier the longer they’re pressed together.

Louis isn’t sure where to go from here, which is new for him. He’s always the confident one, making the first move. But Harry’s had him off-kilter from the moment he walked into the loft. It’s been an unfair game from the start, when Harry had sat down on their faded couch and asked if they would take the last of his Canadian dollars so he didn’t have to pay an exchange rate. Harry’s had Louis wrapped around his finger from the moment his eyes widened in surprise at finding the bucket in his closet that collected rain water the one time it rained in California. Louis was a goner the moment he saw Harry struggling to open the door to even come upstairs for his interview.

Louis didn’t stand a god damn chance.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry asks, lips in a half smile, right dimple teasing its way forward.

“There’s honestly nothing I’d love more,” Louis answers honestly.

* * *

“I’ll fucking kill you both for this,” Liam grits between his teeth. As soon as the door shuts, his smile drops and he whips his head to glare at Harry and Louis on the other end of the couch. “You’re fucking dead to me.”

“You know, when I was on the other end of this, I remember you as the nice one,” Harry says. Actually, when he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember much from being on the other side besides just needing a place to live desperately.

“Yeah, well.” Liam crosses off a name on his clipboard. “Louis promised he wouldn’t do anything with you and now here we are. And if I have to sit through another roommate interview where the guy offers us a discount on a used car, I’ll just kick both of you out.”

“That’d be dumb,” Louis mumbles. “Then you’d be trying to fill two spots instead of one.”

Liam throws a pillow at his head.

“If you two could have kept it in your pants we wouldn’t be trying to fill one spot!”

“Okay, hold on here,” Harry interjects. “We were fine keeping separate bedrooms. You were the one who told us we needed to move in to one bedroom which has then become this search for a new roommate. So, it’s your fault. We could have converted the room into an office space.”

“Yeah, Liam,” Louis mocks. “We could have gotten an _office_.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You guys hadn’t slept in a separate bedroom in seven months. I was getting sick of Louis’ room collecting dust. Get over it. We’re about to save like a hundred dollars a month on rent now.”

“How many people does our lease say we can have in here?” Harry asks. He wonders if this is something he should have asked a long time ago.

“I don’t think you want to know that answer,” Louis says. “You won’t be very happy about it.”

“Technically my room isn’t even a room, it’s just a a large closet. If that tells you anything,” Niall says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Wait, so then why wouldn’t we give Niall an actual room instead of a closet?” Harry wonders. “Does he pay less in rent?”

“Oh, paying less in rent, what a good idea-”

“Harry.” Louis raises a hand to shut everyone up. Not surprisingly, everyone does shut up. “Don’t try and mess with the order of things.”

“Yeah, the last time you tried to mess with things it didn’t go so well,” Zayn adds.

“How was I supposed to know that calling a _plumber_ to fix the sink would mess with things? That’s what adults do!”

The argument would probably continue, but there’s a knock on the door. They all pause, catching each other’s eyes and wondering who it is. They were done with interviews for the day and no one ever visited them without texting first.

“My vote’s on a serial killer,” Louis faux-whispers.

“Not funny,” Liam says. He stands and crosses the room, peering through the peephole before shrugging and opening the door. The door swings open to reveal a tall brunette man standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says. “I saw the ad about the apartment. I was kind of worried it was a trap because it seemed too good to be true. Furnished and rent that cheap? I thought for sure it was a scam.”

“Um, hi,” Liam says, seemingly at a loss for words. “Who are you?”

“Oh!” The man perks up. “My name’s Shawn. Just moved here, actually. Easy to scam.”

“Should you be telling us this?” Liam asks. He shakes his head. “Whatever. Come in. You’re the most normal person who’s stood in that hallway all day.”

Shawn steps inside, peering around, eyes wide. He doesn’t seem to have the critical eye that Harry did when he first walked into the loft. He remembers his initial disgust at the very couch he’s currently sitting on.

The five meet eyes across the room as Shawn sits on the couch opposite from them. Harry braces himself as Liam asks,

“So, do you want to tell us a little bit more about why you’re here?”

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed, didn't enjoy, just want a friend - feel free to reach out on [tumblr!](https://adoredontour.tumblr.com)  
> [fic post!](https://adoredontour.tumblr.com/post/189293412720/whos-that-girl-13k-so-do-you-want-to-tell-us)


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